More than a Body, More than a Name
by Pheonee
Summary: Katara learns the hard way a simple truth about Aang. It's just too late to make the most of it. Zutaraangst, you know what that means. DISCONTINUED.
1. Chapter 1

**More Than a Body, More Than a Name**

This is the first Avatar fan-fiction I've finished and shared, and as I am a rabid shipper, it's romantic and Kataang. Mentions of blood and death, so be warned. I like to think I've had enough experience with literature to know this doesn't suck, but just in case it does, I've got a list of reasons why you shouldn't eat me for it handy.  
-I am barely thirteen years old (September 1994).  
-English is my second language; I was Chinese till I was seven.  
-This is the first Avatar fiction I've finished and shared.

Hm. It sounded longer in my head, but it will do. And now that you are quite sick of this lengthy and rambling Author's Note, disclaimers and fic, please.

**I do not own Avatar, nor do I claim to. This is the work of an admiring fan, and no commercial use is being made of the characters, settings and plots of Avatar: The Last Airbender for personal benefit. Any intelligence related to and including Avatar: The Last Airbender is the sole property of their creators and shareholders. Pheonee is simply too hopelessly, rabidly obsessed with the awesomest-of-awesome that is Avatar.**

**Roll Fic!**

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He ran. He ran and ran till he could run no further, and still he gasped and choked and was caught in an eternal struggle to be away, far, far away from the horrors that reality had so suddenly become.

Collapsed against something hard and rough, he cried; cried as if the tears running from his silver eyes held the awful truth, and expelling them forcefully from his system as he was could make the truth go away. Perhaps it could. Perhaps tears trapped bad things and by crying you could make any bad thing good. Perhaps, if he cried enough and enough tears escaped from the pools of quicksilver that were his eyes, his life could go back to being normal.

Perhaps Katara would still be by his side, where he needed her.

Perhaps Zuko would still be wrapped in the politics of his nation.

Perhaps his heart would mend itself and he could go on living without the awful pain driving him to madness each hour of each day.

Aang slid down the tree trunk and drew a deep, shuddering breath. Thinking about the perhaps's of crying made him feel marginally better. Though the tears did not cease to stream down his face, and his body still racked with great sobs, the pain in his chest lessened, very, very slightly.

His eyes remained tightly closed, for he feared that seeing reality would be accepting reality, and accepting reality would make it final; unchangeable and unmovable. If he refused to believe it, it wouldn't come true. So light-headed was he from crying that his anything could happen, anything.

He remained leaned against the rough bark for a long time. He did not know exactly how long, but it was long enough for the sun to go from the middle of the sky to right down near the horizon where it disappeared. It was long enough for the heaving, choking sobs to slow to small sniffles then stop altogether. It was long enough for the puffy red swell of his eyes to go down then vanish.

And it was long enough for him to realise that the truth was true, and could not be changed. This knowledge put a permanent fissure into his already wounded heart; his only consolation was that Katara appeared happy in Zuko's arms, and if she was happy, perhaps he could learn to be happy again, too.

And as this knowledge settled deep into his fractured heart, his eyes slowly cracked open for the first time in hours.

Katara was gone, he realised.

Gone.

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Blech. It sounded pretty good when I was writing it, but looking back it's rushed and wordy. Yuck. And omg, it's short. The ANs are longer than the story itself, dangit. Promise the next chap will be longer.

Review anyway, because it helps me pretend I'm a good writer. Critiques would be much loved, and flames will be smiled at. Flame if you have the time to, but if you use bad language my maneating unicorn will be set upon your hindquarters. JUST your hindquarters, mind. :D

And by the way, this story already has the next (fairly long) chapter written, I just can't be bothered uploading what could potentially be a five or ten thousand plus word story as a oneshot, and besides, I'm too impatient to finish the WHOLE story before abusing my ability to upload thingehs. . I also want to see just how much I suck at writing. If there's no positive response, I'll ditch this story (although the ending bits sound really good in my head . probably stink like heck on paper) and work on others.

So…review? Or gimme cherries. Pheonee likes cherries. -looks at cherries-


	2. Chapter 2

Teehee. I get the feeling my writing style stinks. But if there's one good thing about it, it's that it's versatile. I can write almost anything—nothing particularly well, but I can write it. Humour, fantasy, emotion, you name it. Horror (well, and smut) is the only thing I refuse to write, so I don't know if I'd be good or bad.

Anyway. You try to enjoy. D

**I do not own Avatar, nor do I claim to. This is the work of an admiring fan, and no commercial use is being made of the characters, settings and plots of Avatar: The Last Airbender for personal benefit. Any intelligence related to and including Avatar: The Last Airbender is the sole property of their creators and shareholders. Pheonee is simply too hopelessly, rabidly obsessed with the awesomest-of-awesome that is Avatar.**

* * *

"Where is he! He should have been back hours and hours ago, but do you see him? No. And is anyone doing anything about it?! NO!"

Sokka was pacing up and down the front porch. Surprisingly, the Fire Nation palace had been built conveniently close to a forest, or maybe the forest was built near the palace, but either way it was easy walking distance to some fresh green air, and the whole gang had taken advantage of this and gone on separate bushwalks during the day. They had agreed to all be back by five for rest and recreation, then dinner. Of course, Aang was not back. We know where he is, but Sokka, Katara, Toph, Zuko, and half the palace didn't. (The other half doesn't care, so they don't count.)

"Relax, Snoozles. It's only half past. So he's a little late, no biggie, he'll be back for dinner. The cook promised him infertile egg-and-cream sauce on those juicy stalky thingies, it's his favourite. He's not going to miss that. Besides, he probably caught sight of some random bush critter and fallen in love with it and wants to take it home. Or maybe some pigeon-squirrels had a fight over a birch-oak seed and he has to settle it. Whatever it is, he's probably lost track of time. It's easy to, when you're the avatar." Toph was utterly undisturbed by Aang's marginal lateness, having experienced plenty of it when her parents were held up at work.

"But," said Sokka, then stopped to think.

He thought.

"Fine, I'll stop worrying," he growled at last. "But if he isn't back by quarter past six, I'm sending out a search party."

"Push the deadline for sundown," said Toph lazily. "Probably about when he'll realise it's time to get cracking."

Sokka groaned. "Fine."

Of course, Aang was not back for dinner.

And of course, he was not back before dark.

Zuko, Toph, Sokka and Katara were in one group, with Zuko lighting the way, Toph clearing the way, Sokka worrying and jumping when he stepped on twigs and they cracked, and Katara calling out his name.

"He fancies you," Sokka had said, not noticing his sister's guilty blush. "He'll come running if he so much as thinks he's heard you."

And so loudly was Katara calling, Aang hearing them could not be far.

"Aang!"

He started. It was Katara's voice. Suddenly, he realised it was dark, and his friends would have been worrying about him.

How selfish I was, he thought sadly.

Slowly, he got up. He was stiff and cramped from sitting in the same position for half the day, and his face and collar cracked with salt, but he made his way toward the sound.

He tested his throat with a murmur, cleared it, and raised his head and his voice.

"Here!"

There were yells of anewed energy and lots of snapping twigs as the party of four scrambled toward the yell.

Katara was first to reach him and collapsed upon him with a sob of worry. He staggered a little, and though he willed himself not to cry, the tears spilled forth anyway, as he felt Katara's familiar, gentle, tender hug.

The hug he might never feel again.

They both cradled each other and cried, and the other three shifted for they were not so capital at these soppy moments. Zuko shifted the most and told himself things Zutaraians would be delighted to hear.

Presently they got back to the palace and sat down in one of the many living rooms, the one closest to the Gaang's quarters.

Aang insisted he was fine, refusing to speak of the day and bade for them to forget about it. Puzzled as they were, they spoke no more of it, and Aang was led to his room for a late dinner.

He tasted tears once again as the door snapped shut and he was left to his dinner. A small flame issued from his fingertip and over the meal set upon the table where he sat, but he had not a single unit of strength or will left in his body that could be spared for things as trivial as eating. So empty and helpless and _deprived_ he felt, with Katara so close and yet so far, that all he felt he could do was sit there for the rest of the night. Even lying down to sleep felt beyond his power at that moment.

So he didn't sleep, but thought.

He spent the whole night thinking about that day's events, replaying that kiss, that hug, over and over in his mind. He wondered what he ought to do; his friends would worry if he simply sat in his room for the rest of eternity, and thought, which was what he wanted to do. He also could not tell Katara how much her affection meant to him, not now she had chosen another; it would either tear her heart two ways or his right apart.

Finally, as the sun peek over the horizon, he decided to bid his time and pretend. He had always been good at pretending. He had had to pretend it hadn't hurt to have his arrows done, and pulled that off quite successfully; and he had had to pretend he wasn't unhappy when his twelfth birthday party had been called off ("You are the Avatar. Avatars do not waste time with such childish folly") so he would not appear immature or whinging, and no one suspected anything else. He had pretended to be someone he was not in order to sneak into the Fire Nation during the war (he would never forget how uncomfortable and bothersome hair was, although it did keep his head warm), and if that had been less than perfectly pulled off he wouldn't be sitting here contemplating the pretends he'd done.

And now he had to pretend everything was fine and he wasn't living as though there was no more to live for, because the two things he had ever desired in his life had been snatched from him; his childhood, and Katara.

He didn't know if he could do it. He had never been able to pull off pretends that involved Katara directly.

He heaved a long, great sigh and looked at the rising sun. He would have to.

For many minutes he stared at the sun. It was so perfect, so whole, so knowing and sure. All it had to do was get up each morning, walk across the sky, and step down in the evening. There rarely were any complications of that ball of fire.

Suddenly, Aang blinked. The bright circle was suddenly marred by a black dot, tiny at first but growing more noticeable all the time. His eyes following its progress, he stood up, just in time to catch the message the hawk dropped into his hands. In half a second the scroll was open and he was reading rapidly, not noticing the bird in its stumble out of the window and flutter back where it came.

As his eyes raced across the page, he felt a mounting feeling that hybrided between dread and excitement. Here proved the perfect excuse to run as far away from Katara's beautiful face as he could, and yet it could well cost him his life. He looked up from the scribbled letter wildly; had he any time to tell his friends? The letter was urgent; and yet he would have to go through the breakfast room for his glider, anyway, and that would be where most would be situated. Immediately he was running from the room, down the stairs, into the breakfast room.

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Yeah, more suck. xD Just stay calm D If you don't like it, tell me. But if you don't tell me how to improve it, I can't and you'll just sit here hating it forever. xD 


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